


Prince and Pauper

by LadyMuzzMuzz



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, As is every other character, Dadgil, Gen, Inspired by the 'Prince and the Pauper', Nero being a sweetie pie, The Sparda Family is Human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29024088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMuzzMuzz/pseuds/LadyMuzzMuzz
Summary: In the blessed Kingdom of Fortuna, a young King, bereft of all family, decides to make a break for freedom.  What he discovers outside his gilded prison will change everything.Planning to update every Wednesday!
Relationships: Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 58





	1. A Prison of Gold and Silk

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the tale of the 'Prince and the Pauper', by Mark Twain. (Yes, people seem to forget its Mark Twain who wrote the tale) But if you've never read it, don't worry... it doesn't follow the original tale much.

“Rise and Shine, your Grace!”

The shine part was definitely true, as Dante shielded his eyes from the sudden intrusion of sunlight as the maid whipped open the thick red velvet curtains. But the rise part? His bed was far too comfortable, far too soft to get out of. Especially if the day was planned out for him the way he feared.

“Your Highness, you have a busy day ahead of you. Lord Sanctus requires your attendance at the council session first thing this morning!” The maid cheerfully reminded him. Her fakery sickened him. He’d seen her when she thought he wasn’t looking, saw how she lorded over the other maids because of her position, was rude to practically everyone except himself, only to stay in his good graces.

“I made your favourite breakfast, eggs benedict!” She placed the silver platter in front of him, the intoxicating smell of cooked eggs and cream finally rousing him from his hibernation. That’s the only reason he kept her around, really. For all her fakery, she could whip up a mouthwatering meal. But the moment he found another servant who could cook as well, and was much kinder to his staff…

He was still halfway through the side of strawberry slices, when, without knocking, two more people entered his chambers, and gave him perfunctory bows.

“Dante-” the man started, but the King held his hand up, silencing him momentarily.  
“Hand it over first, Enrico.”  
He sighed, and gingerly reached into his bag to pull out a fresh kaiser bun, studded with a copious amount of black seeds, still warm from the oven, and tossed it into Dante’s outstretched hand. He eagerly bit into it, not even bothering to put butter on it.  
“Give my compliments to Cecilia. The woman is a literal wizard when it comes to baking”

“I’m sure my wife will appreciate the praise, sir,” he brushed off a seed from his immaculate white and gold uniform, “but we have a tight itinerary today.”  
“First things first,” the woman interjected, “There’s the morning council meeting, His Holiness requires your signature to raise taxes on the trade of wool.”  
“Lucia, I thought I told him that taxes were fine as they were! The treasury is nearly full to the brim with gold!”  
“As your Chancellor, he disagrees, and says we can squeeze out a bit more, in case of emergency.”  
Dante grumbled. Sure, he was bound to listen to his advisors, as the Constitution of Fortuna demanded, but he was still King, dammit! It always irked him when they went over his head on these sorts of things. Yes, they had experience, and in the case of Sanctus, had been in their positions since before he was born, but even from the safe confines of his palace, he could hear the murmurs of discontent. In theory, the kingdom could handle a tax increase, but at what cost to her soul?

The woman pushed her braid away from her face, and continued as she looked through the sheaf of papers she held. “After lunch, the ambassadors Eternis Brillia will be arriving for you to sign the extension of the peace treaty between our kingdoms. I suggest,” her left eyebrow arced sharply, “you behave this time. Lady Cassandra was most offended at your joke.”  
“You mean the one with the Raccoon and the Panther? That’s a classic!” His speech was muffled as he talked around half the bun in his mouth. Sure, it would be a pain in the butt pulling out those seeds from between his teeth later on, but it was worth it. If it wasn’t for the fact that Cecilia was perfectly happy in the castle bakery, he’d appoint her to be his personal chef. 

“Speaking of behaving, after the meeting, the tailors will be here for your first fitting for your birthday ball.”

Dante dropped the remnants of the bun on the platter in dejection. “Awww man...the ball? Do I really have to go? Can’t it just be a quiet affair this time? You all know how much I hate these sorts of things. Too many people, too many perfumes, smiles, fake laughs…” he shuddered.  
“You know the real reason, sir.” Enrico sighed, “A man of your age and station without a wife is worrisome, both to the kingdom, and if I may be frank,” the man stroked his beard, “us as well. After all, you’re all that Fortuna has left of the royal family...if something were to happen to you…”

Dante groaned. Not this shit again. Yes, he was twenty eight years old. Yes, he hadn’t even expressed interest in settling down. Hell, aside from occasional flirting, he hadn’t really felt the spark of romance. Why couldn’t he just appoint someone suitable as his heir? Sure, they wouldn’t carry on his family’s bloodline, but what difference would he make? After all, he wasn’t even supposed to be King, he was the younger twin of King Sparda and Queen Eva. But, the day of his and his elder brother’s first birthday, an attack...no, an assasination left everyone aside from himself dead. Yet another reason he hated these balls. How dare people celebrate a day that would always be a dark one for himself? His hand slowly went to the silver amulet, a gift from his mother, that always delicately hung around his neck. He sighed. Tradition dictated that Royal Birthdays were supposed to be lavish affairs, where the high and mighty of the Kingdom, and other neighboring countries would dance in elegant clothes, sip fine vintages, and begin political deals. Said ‘deals’ often included marriage…

“Fine..fine,” he growled, pushing the platter aside, his hunger, and mood ruined. He’d been dealing with these things for over a decade, what was one more? Eventually the council would give way, and allow him to pick out a successor, someone who would be suitable for governing.

“There is one thing scheduled for today,” Enrico added, a hopeful note in his voice, “Your monthly audience with the populace is today, after the meeting with the ambassadors. You’ll have several hours to interact with the people.”

That...that was actually good. Even though these sessions were closely guarded, hence why Enrico, is ever loyal Captain of the Guard was responsible for them, it was the only time Dante actually got near to the people he governed. He only wished that these events lasted longer, and were more numerous, but the danger was too much, according to Sanctus. After all, they’d never found the killers of his entire family, and what if they were just biding their time to finish the job? And so, Dante had been a prisoner, albeit a very pampered one, in a prison made of silk and gold for nearly thirty years. It was getting a bit too constrictive. 

* * *

He got himself dressed, waving away the servants that were to attend to his every need, and made his way out of his chambers, ready and excited to face a new day. 

That was easily dispelled by the frowning face of a woman, her body leaning against the wall.

“Well, it’s about time. Enjoyed your breakfast, your highness?” The sarcasm was layered thick on the title.

“Good morning to you, Lady Mary.” Great, he was going to have to deal with her all day, he could feel it in his bones. Still he tried to walk past her, maybe she had to talk to Enrico about guard changes. No such luck, as she followed him, just a footstep behind, the closest thing to ‘deference’.

“You missed sparring practice yesterday.” She stated, keeping up with him even as he sped up, “and the day before, and the day before that…”

“Really Lady? I don’t know why you’re so adamant that I do these sort of things, especially since I kick your ass every time.”

“That’s because you always use Rebellion. If you started using Yamato, you’d feel a bit of a challenge.”  
“No,” Dante was firm on that point. The two swords of his father were on the Royal coat of arms, but he would never wield his deceased brother’s birthright, it didn’t seem right. Rebellion would suffice. “I have the sword that I’m good with, don’t need anything else....”

“That’s not the point, it’s to keep your mind and reflexes sharp in case-”

“Yeah yeah, in case someone just HAPPENS to get through not only this castle’s walls, but five dozen of the best trained guards East of Redgrave.” He distracted himself by stopping and adjusting the ruffles on his silk shirt.

“Dammit Dante,” she hissed, “One of these days you’ll need to take your security seriously.”

“Why should I do that,” he countered goodnaturedly, although starting to get annoyed. At least Enrico was a few years older than him, he could accept the nagging, like a big brother. Lady was almost a year younger than him, and it was like having a yappy little dog biting at his heels. “When I have you to babysit me every waking moment?”

“If you’re so annoyed by me, why don’t you just sack me with your oh-so-mighty royal powers?”

God, it was tempting. There were two reasons he didn’t. The first was straightforward.

“Yeah, that would make dealing with your father on the council a bit awkward.”

“It wouldn’t if you had a backbone that was less flexible than your wit.” Ouch… but true. But Lady had no idea how hard it was, standing up to a group of the leading men of the realm, each almost twice his age, who knew so much more than he ever could about the realm. When he was in the room with them, he suddenly reverted to being a ten year old child, who ‘should listen to his elders.’ If it wasn’t for the fact that he was expected to, as King, to show up and pretend to participate, he’d just skip these meetings altogether.

The second ...well, that was a bit more complicated. As King, it was expected that everyone was to show him deference that was owed to him. While it meant that he usually got his way, (aside from the old fogies on the council), it meant that he could never really trust anyone. What if everyone hated him, thought he was really the stupid, careless, unlikeble brat he thought he really was? You couldn’t say something like that to someone of his rank. Lady was one of the few who could, and WOULD stand up to him, to call him on his bullshit. In a way, she was the closest he had to a friend. Obviously, he couldn’t tell her that, she’d let it go to her head.  
“Really wish we didn’t have to take the long way around,” Lady grumbled. “If we just took the stairs and cut throught the West Wing, we’d be on time.”

“Look, you know why I hate walking through that abandoned section of the palace. Gives me the heebie jeebies.” The West Wing was the personal quarters of his family, but had been abandoned since the attack, over a quarter of a century ago. Servants claimed that there was a cold presence, especially in the children’s chambers, and Dante had sworn he could hear crying, although both things could be due to the fact it faced out towards the ocean, with the wailing winds that accompanied it.

“Well, either you put on your big boy pants” Lady gruffly replied, “or you get up earlier. Either way, you need to stop being late for these meetings.”  
“You know... YOU could always take the shortcut.”

“I’m supposed to be guarding you.”

“Suuurrrrrre, nothing to do with the fact you’re a scaredy cat, too”

Her halfhearted punch to his bicep just proved his point. But Dante didn’t blame her, he wasn’t the only one to have lost his mother in that cursed place...

* * *

As per usual, there was a flood of people in the waiting room, too many awaiting a one on one audience with their King. Each of them, before even being permitted to enter the castle, had been searched for weapons, and their petitions investigated, both to make sure Dante's time wasn’t wasted… and for his protection. Not that an assassin in the guise of a petitioner could get close. A good dozen Order guards were in the throne room, along with both Enrico and Lady, the former on his left, the latter on his right, standing alert. Dante attempted to look regal and imperious sitting on his throne, but man, it was hard on his back. But he’d endure the back pains, for the chance to interact with the common folk, to get a glimpse of their concerns.

Even so, the whole thing was thing felt artificial, with people coming in one by one.There were people asking for investigations on unscrupulous landlords, for money for their school, to release a brother from prison due to an untrue accusation of theft

For the first, he gladly agreed, as it was his duty to ensure the basic needs of his people were easily attainable. For the second, he’d agree, with the proviso that he would have to check with the finances (if the tax revenue increase worked like Sanctus said it would, there would definitely be enough, even though the old bugger would gripe about it.). For the third one, Dante could not do, as it would be unseemly for a King to arbitrarily release prisoners. All he could do, would be to offer an investigation of the charges.

Far too soon, time ran out, and the herald announced that the session was over, drawing disappointed sighs that he could hear from the throne room. He wished with all his heart that he could grant an audience with all of them, timetables be damned.

“My Lord,” Enrico prodded him, “the candidates for squire hood are ready for examination in the courtyard.”

Dante attempted to cheer himself up, “don’t think I’ll go easy on Credo. I expect him to live up to his father’s reputation.”

The man laughed with pride, “Trust me, my son wants nothing more than to exceed my achievements. He can’t stop reminding me that he reached this level a good two years earlier than I did. I can only hope succeeds, he has his family’s…”

Dante didn’t catch the rest of it, looking through a window to the sad, bedraggled people below, being escorted out by Order guards. How long had they waited just to beg for aid, only to be barred by ‘time restraints’? Dammit, these were HIS people, he was supposed to be their protector! And yet, locked behind the impregnable stone walls, he did nothing. There were men and women there, some in groups, some by themselves. Old people leaning on staves, and… hmm, that was interesting… a boy, couldn’t be older than ten, with bone white hair, all by himself. But the grief on that child’s face tore at Dante’s heart.

  
_Somehow_ he thought to himself, _I gotta escape this Hell._


	2. Angel of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down in the slums of Fortuna, a man without a past, will do ANYTHING to keep his newly created family whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit longer, and a bit angstier than the previous chapter.

The normally noisy crowd quieted immediately down, from giggling vagabond children playing tag, to the vendors hawking their ‘gently used’ goods. And even though the ramshackle market was filled to the brim with the lower caste members of Fortuna, many of whom had been toughened by life’s hardships, they all managed to stay out of the way of the cloaked figure. If one listened carefully, one could hear fearful whispers…    
  


_ “Nelo Angelo” _

Even for the foolhardy that claimed that they weren’t terrified of the masked figure, dressed in dark blue, would definitely be afraid of the man (or was he a monster?) he worked for.  _ Mundus,  _ the Lord of the Criminal Underworld. The faceless man, the ‘Black Angel’ was one of his chief enforcers. People had seen, or had heard rumours of his deeds. Guards sticking their noses where they shouldn’t be, strangled and left to hang on pillars, bodies of those who had tried to cross Mundus floating down the canals. They kept a clear path for him, trying to pretend that they weren’t keeping one eye on him, petrified that he would turn his wrath on them. But Nelo seemed focussed on one thing, ignoring the effect he was having on the crowds. For on his shoulder, like an oversized potato sack, was a body, trussed up like a market chicken, its face obscured by a black hood. 

Wait, not a body… at least not yet. For in the near silence, one could hear muffled whimpers, and if one looked closely, the bound hands twitched, still struggling despite the bloody gashes in the wrists caused by the ropes.  _ Whoever this poor sod was _ , the crowd collectively thought,  _ I’m glad it's them, and not me. _   
Nelo stopped at a nondescript door, it's only distinguishing feature a trio of dots, the colour of dried blood, connected by a jagged line in the shape of a triangle. Adjusting his bundle, he pounded on the door, one, two, three times. A moment’s worth of tense silence passed before the door opened a crack, and if one of the townsfolk had the stones to look closely, they would have seen a figure, pale and with spindly fingers, gripping the door in a way that was reminiscent of a spider.

The cloaked man jerked his head imperceptibly towards his cargo, and after a moment, the door opened wider, allowing the man entry. And with sudden quickness, the door slammed shut. It took several minutes before the populace felt comfortable to resume their activities. And even then...everyone kept an eye on that door.

“Took you long enough,” the pale man said as he led his guest (or was it  _ guests _ ?) down into the basement. The bundle, hearing a voice, moaned, and began to struggle again, fruitlessly of course.

“The quarry was hard to nail down,” Nelo replied, his voice muffled by the mask, obviously annoyed. He gripped tighter, “Settle down.” It must have had an effect, as the victim went still. “Of course, it is easy for you to say, Phantom, staying here, playing your part as glorified doorkeeper.”

The man scowled as they reached the final steps “You shut your mouth!”

“Now, now…” a smooth, yet dangerous voice cut through the dank air, like a snake slithering through the underbrush. “There’s no need for fights between my ‘employees’, is there? There, sitting in a dark wooden chair, far too ornate for the damp confines of a basement, was a bearded man, lounging like a bored noble, flanked on both sides by his bodyguards, who remained silent. “Nelo has worked so,  _ so _ , hard to find our prize, and I’d rather not have anyone ruin my happy mood. Now,” he pointed to the bare floor in front of him, “let’s give our guest a warm welcome.”

Nelo nodded, and with little care, hefted his bundle off his shoulder, and rudely shoved him to the ground. There was a small pained yelp from the figure, as all four of them examined it, before Mundus nodded, and made a jerking gesture. His cloaked enforcer yanked off the hood, revealing a disheveled, balding man, his remaining hair soaked with sweat and unkempt from his journey.

Mundus stroked his beard and smiled, “Ah Griffon…” the man flinched as his nickname was called out, terrified out of his wits, “So glad you could  _ finally  _ join us.”

“M-mundus… sir!” Griffon hands instinctively tried to push matted strands out of his face, to make himself look presentable. But he just smeared blood from his torn wrists all over his face, giving him an even more garish appearance. “I-I just was...what I mean to say was, I had every intention of coming.... I just…”

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Mundus steepled his fingers and leant forward, somehow making himself even more terrifying, “where are the blood orbs you promised to deliver?”

Griffon gave a chuckle, fueled not by humour, but out of extreme anxiety. “Look, the funniest thing happened… my supplier… Enzo, I think his name was… well, he took the money but didn’t deliver the goods! Says the border guards confiscated the orbs, and then… POOF, he fucking vanishes like a fart in the wind! Craziest thing, eh?” He ended his explanation with a frantic giggle, which faded into the darkness, suffocated by the atmosphere

“Sir- Just give me another chance! I promise I’ll get the blood orbs to you, even if it means I have to hunt down that fat bas-”   
He was cut off by Mundus holding up his hand. “You claim that you have explanations and promises, Griffon...but all I hear...are  _ excuses _ .”

“Please sir-”

He was cut off yet again. “You have to understand what I am, when boiled to basics, a simple  _ businessman,  _ with investments. And when an investment doesn’t pay out, which unfortunately happens on occasion, I must  _ divest _ myself. Cut my losses, as it were.”

Griffon could only swallow, as he awaited judgement, hoping against hope that Mundus would release him from his debt, with the unspoken agreement that later on, Griffon would be called on to perform a ‘favour’.

“Nelo...dispose of him.”

“Sir, I promise. I can pay you back! Double-no, TRIPLE. I swear!”

Surprisingly, Nelo, who hadn’t said anything since his spat with Phantom, spoke up. “Is it wise sir? Alive, you might be able to recoup SOMETHING? You’ll get nothing from him when he’s a corpse.”   
“Nelo,” Mundus’s voice was still casual, but there was a sliver of ice slithering into it, “While for the most part, I’d agree with you, but some people’s worth is not what meagre amounts they can pay back...it’s what message their corpse sends. Now,” his voice lost any faux politeness, lowering down an octave. For a brief moment, the mask was off revealing to everyone the cruelty that hid beneath, “I gave an order.”

“PLEASE SIR! MERC-” Griffon tried one last desperate plea, but it was cut short by the blade that burst out of his chest. He made a gurgling sound as he stared down at the blade in shock for a moment, and then back at the man that had ordered his execution, unable to speak as blood dribbled out of his mouth, his eyes begging for one last chance, a chance that would never come. Nelo’s boot pressed on his back, pushing him forward, and he fell into the ground with a lifeless thud, never to arise again.

“Now that this unpleasant business is finished,” Mundus' voice had returned to its previous joviality, “Shadow, and Nightmare, please see if there’s any valuables on him. Might as well get as much as we can out of this situation.” The duo, a hulk of a man with an eyepatch, along with the dark haired slip of a woman, in sync, turned the body over and began to rifle through the pockets.

“Nelo,” Mundus motioned him over, “Excellent job, well done! I’ve given you a bit extra,” he passed over a leather pouch, coins greasily clinking together within, “as Griffon was quite troublesome to locate. Today, consider a week’s worth of your debt paid off. You’ve done me a great service. But…” his voice lowered to a dangerous degree, “Let me remind you of how precarious your position is, if you ever think of questioning my orders again. The only difference between you, and” he flicked his thumb at the carcass his two vultures were picking at, “He could offer me nothing, while you can offer me your sword arm... _ Have I made myself clear? _ ”

“Crystal”

And with that, he switched back to his polite form. “Excellent! I’ll have Phantom contact you the next time I require your services, which won’t be long, business has been brisk, with the extra demand for Blood Orbs lately. The King’s tariffs on them have been such a boon to us. I’ve even heard rumors,” he grinned, “that Vital Stars will be in short supply soon.” He dug his elbow into Nelo, “I’d figured I’d let you know beforehand, to stock on as many of them as possible. I will gladly extend your line of credit, if need be. Now…” he said turning to his minions, that had stripped the still warm corpse of any items of value, a pile of tarnished coins and rusty jewelry beside it, “String him up at the marketplace, I want the message to be loud and clear, NO ONE crosses me and lives.” He turned back to Nelo, “I hope you understand that as well….Vergil”

Out of sight, the cloak and mask were removed, or perhaps more accurately, ripped off. Nelo was gone, replaced by a man with blinding white hair, which he effortlessly swept back.

Yes, Nelo was gone, replaced by Vergil, a young man the illiterate locals went to when they needed a contract read to them, or a letter written before being sent to distant relatives. But his hand wasn’t just talented with the pen, he wielded the blade just as well, his work as a traveling mercenary was famed by merchants looking to protect their wares during journeys. Not that he did much of that lately, having a young son did that kept one close to home As did an ailing wife….

He washed his hands in the running water of the town fountain, trying to scrub the last stubborn flakes of dried blood from between his fingers. No one would notice them, of course, but he would, that stain on both and his skin and soul would never completely wash out. But if it was the price he had to pay, for  _ her… _ he would gladly damn himself for eternity. He looked down at the blood money Nelo earned (no, he had to remind himself, HE had earned). It would purchase a week or so of Vital Stars, as well as the weekly doctor visit, with enough left over for other essentials. If he kept this up, eventually Hannah’s condition would be bound to improve, that she’d return to the healthy woman he’d fallen in love with over ten years ago, back when she met him in a library, eagerly peppering questions about his travels. The one who was constantly writing notes for a book, a history of the Kingdom of Fortuna. The one who always greeted her husband with a kiss, and sang lullabies to their son every night. Soon, the past year of declining strength, weakness, and shortness of breath would just be a distant memory. Then his biggest concern would be paying off the rest of debt, while keeping his family in the dark about what he had to do.  _ Just a little bit longer _ he told himself as he made his way home,  _ and everything will turn out fine. _

* * *

One look at the doctor’s face told him things weren’t fine. The man was closing his briefcase, his brow furrowed. Usually the bespectacled man would be gone by now, his weekly check ups had been quick and to the point, only staying a bit longer to speak to Vergil about a concern he had about her condition.

The doctor looked up at the sound of the front door of the modest home closing. “Ah, Mr. Marino!” He adjusted his glasses, glanced at the mostly closed bedroom door before lowering his voice. “I must discuss something important with you regarding Hannah.”   
“If you need to speak to me about my wife, you also need to speak to her.” Even when protective of his wife, she deserved not to be left in the dark about her illness.

The doctor took a deep breath, and a cold liquid ice slithered up Vergil’s spine. This couldn’t be good. But whatever it took, he would do it, in order to ensure that his wife would get better.

He looked around, trying to find Nero, usually home by now from school, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had gone out with a friend? Thankfully, his absence would make the upcoming conversation easier. All the eight year old knew that his mother was ill, she had been for the past year, but it would pass.

Hannah looked up from her book as both men entered the bedroom, pale and thin, but still radiant in Vergil’s eyes, especially as her eyes lit up upon seeing him. He leant down to gently kiss her, ignoring the slight tremble as her hand held onto his.

But even she was aware that the doctor had less than favourable news, and unwillingly broke the kiss, before turning to the doctor, while Vergil took a seat on a chair beside the bed, continuing to hold her hand.

“What’s the matter, doctor?”

He hesitated, adjusted his glasses once more, swallowed nervously, and took a deep breath. 

“Mrs. Scriba, I regret to confirm what you had already suspected. Your illness is getting worse, to the point that…” another nervous swallow, “I don’t believe the chance of recovery is likely at this point.” he avoided looking at Vergil, focussing intently on Hannah. “Vital Stars are basically the only reason you’re still alive. As your body weakens, you’ll need more, possibly two or three a day, instead of the one you already have. The dosage will have to increased as the mon-”

“We’ll do that, whatever it takes.” Vergil interrupted. It didn’t matter how bloody his hands would get, no price was too high, not if there was a chance, however slim, that she would get better. Mundus would gladly give him the money, he knew the crime boss found him too useful to let go, he’d just have to ask him to extend his ‘contract’, it would be fin-

_ “No” _

Her voice was uncommonly strong, as if she was putting all her energy on that one word.

“Hannah?”

She turned to him slowly, almost unwillingly, “I’ve… spent some time thinking about this, about what I wanted to do if my health wasn’t improving and I,” she looked down her pale hands, “I realized that I was deluding myself into thinking I was going to get better. I’ve decided…” she took a deep breath, “to discontinue the treatments.”

Vergil was gobsmacked. His beautiful, strong, wise wife was...giving up? No, she couldn’t! Nero needed his mother in his life, Vergil needed her!

The doctor read the situation accurately, and began to pack up again. “I’ll let you two discuss your future path. Please, don’t hesitate to contact me with whatever you choose.” And with an alarming quickness, he tipped his hat, and left.

Vergil could barely contain himself until the front door of their home closed.

“Hannah…”

She held his hand tightly, distracting him for a moment. “I know what you’re going to say. That I can beat this, that you will work harder, that I just need to hold on for a little bit longer…” she stroked his hand with her thumb, attempting to calm him down, even though nothing could. “But I know, I feel it in my heart that by trying to cling on, I’m causing more pain. The costs of treatments… they’re astronomical.”

“And totally worth it,” Vergil interjected, grasping at straws. He needed to convince her to keep fighting. “I know a person who can help us,” he glossed over the name of the person, she didn’t need to know, “I still have ways of raising money, I have,” his hand went to the golden amulet that was hidden under his vest. For all of his life, it was his most valuable possession, his only link to who he might have been when he was plucked out of the rough waters of the ocean as a babe. That’s why he had started out as a mercenary, to travel the realm in order to find out his identity, as well as the identity of the woman that had held him above the waves, at the cost of her own life. It was the source of his first name, inscribed on the back. But as priceless as it was, its value paled in comparison to his wife’s life. He’d settled that he’d never find out where he came from, but he would NEVER settle for his wife dying. He'd go to a pawn shop the first thing next morning...

“No,” she repeated with all the strength she could muster, and forced herself to sit up, high enough to pull his hand away “I won’t have you selling everything to delay the inevitable, you’re already selling pieces of your soul away.”

He jerked as if he had been shocked. Was she implying that she already knew…?

Of course, Hannah read his mind like an open book, “I don’t know specifics, but I’ve heard rumours from the doctor, from the washerwomen...and there’s the money you bring in. Writing letters and managing accounts doesn’t bring in that much coin…” she sighed, “I know that your heart is in the right place, that you have the best intentions, but I won’t have you lose everything I love about you to try to fix what cannot be undone.” Her face turned sad and she pulled him down so she could caress his face, “Nero’s going to lose his mother, nothing can change that...I don’t want him to lose his father as well.”   
To which, Vergil had no possible counterargument. Any other reason he could think of would be selfish, centered on what he felt. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew that even with the treatments, that everyday was a torture for her. She could barely get out of bed anymore, so weak that he had to carry her. But still, he had hoped that a miracle would happen, that she’d get better, and that she and him would live a long life together, watching Nero grow up, to see grandchildren (she had hoped that any potential grandchildren would have Vergil and Nero’s bone white hair). But Fate had, as per usual, ripped his happiness from him. He had lost his mother, his identity, and only by hard work, had he built himself his own family, something he could belong to. And now...it was slipping through his fingers, no matter what he did.

“My love,” her soft voice reeled him back in. “Remember when we first met?” She was trying to keep him from falling back into that black abyss of despair.

“In your village, just outside of Mitis Forest, at the small bookstore you helped at. I was looking for a book to occupy my mind mind between jobs and you recommended-”

“ _ Songs of Innocence,” _ she smiled at the memory.

“It was like you read my mind, I was instantly entranced by it, and you gave it to me for only a favour. All I had to do was tell you about my travels, to regale you with stories of my exploits...for the first time, you made me feel like I was a whole person, that it didn’t matter that I was an orphan, a failed blacksmith, a vagabond mercenary, that I was a PERSON. The way you would look at me when I would quote poetry to you, no matter if it was children's singing rhymes, or William Blake...you made me feel special.”

She stroked his cheek, “I want you remember those moments when you think of me, I want you to make Nero feel the same way you felt, that he’s protected and loved, I want him-” she stopped as both of them heard the sound of the door opening, and the small shuffle of feet. Nero had finally come home, and they heard him set down his schoolbag in the tiny living room.    
Like clockwork, the nine-year old made his way into his parent’s bedroom to check on his mother.    
Vergil quickly slammed down the stony wall over his emotional turmoil, no need to trouble his son, as the boy leapt up on the bed to give his mother hugs and kisses. Strange, Nero usually dressed rather lazily, but today, he was dressed to perfection, even his normally wild hair was slicked back in the style of his father’s. This was doubly strange, because Vergil hadn’t been there to nag him to clean himself up, and he had kept up his polished appearance, even after a day of school and roughhousing with his friends.

“How was my little Prince’s day?” She was just as good as he was at pretending that everything was fine as he was.

“Oh..it was nice…” he hesitantly started, shimmying into a comfortable position beside his mother. 

Vergil could tell it was his cue to give them some alone time. “I’ll go make supper while you two chat…” Vergil was not resentful of being pushed out, after all, he had countless memories of the past decade with his wife, his son wouldn’t get that privilege.

He brought back a wooden with three steaming bowls of stew, along with a few slices of stale bread into the bedroom, the savoury aroma filling the room, the steam from the bowls glowing fire orange as the rays of the setting sun shone through the window. Some would scoff at the man of the house doing ‘woman’s work’ like cooking and laundry, but Vergil ever since his childhood, had learned to do such things, to be self reliant. He had always been grateful to Old Nell for taking him in, making sure he learned his letters, and for trying to teach him to follow in her footsteps as a blacksmith, but when it came to keeping house...well, there was a reason she was considered slightly...eccentric. Her entire house risked catching on fire from all the knick-knacks she kept around. So Vergil had to quickly grow up in such a situation.

Whatever his son and wife were talking about, his entrance cut it off. Nero, ever a polite boy, thanked Vergil as he was handed a bowl and spoon, and only had to be told once by Hannah to not slurp the broth. Nero wasn’t at risk of being underfed, even with their relative poverty, but he was going through a growth spurt, and the food Vergil provided would never quite be enough. Vergil had already given him the biggest portion, and he had already gobbled half of it down, and was using the bread to soak up some of the broth.

In an attempt to slow him down, Vergil started up a conversation with him, knowing he couldn’t talk and eat at the same time. 

“What did you learn today at school, Nero?”

His son gulped down a hunk of bread, and set his spoon down. “We learned about multiplication...Miss. Browning says it’s important if we want to buy things in the market.”   
“Nero…” Hannah interrupted, looking slightly concerned (and Vergil noticed she had barely touched her meal), I thought you said you had Mr. Kirkpatrick teaching you grammar today?”

His son was caught off guard, and quickly stammered “W-well, we did both things, grammar in the morning, maths after lunch.” It was clear he was lying, and Vergil growled disapprovingly.

“Nero Adrien Scriba, you skipped school today again, didn’t you?” His son didn’t need to answer, his downward gaze revealed the truth. Vergil sighed. Yes, his son was in that period where it was common for boys and girls to test the rules, but this habit of truancy was very concerning. In truth, Vergil blamed himself, after all, if he was more present instead of being Mundus’s errand boy, Nero would have a more stable life.

It still didn’t stop him from scolding, “Nero, you cannot keep cutting class! You need an education to make the most of your life.” He slicked back his hair in frustration, “Which of your friends were you hanging out with today? Was it Dominic this time? Trevor? I will be speaking with their parents, they obviously are not aware about what their sons ar-”

“I WASN’T WITH ANYONE!” Nero cried, his eyes watering with tears, throwing Vergil off guard. His son took a deep breath and sniffled, “I was-I was, at the palace…” Both adults stared at him in shock, both thinking the same thing:  _ why was he there? _

“I heard King Dante would let people in and give them whatever they wanted, so I got in line to see him, but…” now the tears started dribbling down his cheeks, “I was too late, and they only let a few people in.”   
“Nero,” Hannah gently prodded, stroking his clenched fist, “What were you going to ask the King for?”

“I wanted...I wanted… to ask him for the medicine to make you feel better! So you won’t be sick anymore!”    
Hannah pushed her bowl aside as she used all her strength to pull the sobbing boy’s head into her lap. “Oh my dear, dear boy… you have such a large heart, just like your father.” She kissed his brow, while gently stroking his back to calm him down, “But you father is right. You need to focus on school right now, looking after your mother isn’t your burden to bear, now…” she gave her barely touched bowl of stew to him, “you must be so hungry after all your hard work, have some of mine.”   
Nero sniffled as he got back up, rubbing his eyes, “But… you didn’t eat any!” The boy was far too perceptive, Vergil thought. He already knew his mother wasn’t doing well, how to break the news to him that things were going to get worse?   
“It’s alright, I’m not very hungry tonight,” she responded, her smile light and beautiful. She was trying to pretend, just like him, that everything would be alright. A chill went up his spine, such pleasant playacting would not last long. But for now, as Nero started talking with his mother he decided he would indulge in this happy charade, if only for a little while longer.

The tiny clock in the living room chimed half past eight, and Vergil realized that they had all been talking for over three hours. 

“It’s time for bed, my little prince,” Hannah rubbed his head, “You know what? Tonight, instead of your father, I’ll read you a story and tuck you in, would you like that?”   
Nero’s eyes widened. “Really? I mean- if you feel okay enough.”

“I feel fine!” A baldfaced lie, but Vergil didn’t protest. He had an inkling of what she was planning, “Now, go brush your teeth and get ready for bed. I’ll be there when you’re under your blankets.    
Blissfully unaware, he ran off towards the cramped bathroom, excited for the rare moment where his mother was out of bed.

“I’ll…speak to him tonight,” she murmured sadly to him. “He’s strong, but he’s so young… It’ll be so hard for him. I don’t want him to think that I’m abandoning him.”   
“He will not, he is a kind soul, he will understand in time. As much as it hurts, I will be there for him, to the best of my ability.” Vergil responded sombrely, “I just hope it will be enough. I never had what he has, a mother and father who love him...I don’t know if…”

“You will be fine.” She assured him with a gentle squeeze of his arm. “You are the same man that swept me off my feet all those years back, who wept when you held Nero the first time-”

“I did not weep.”

She chuckled at his too hasty protestation. “Oh, I must have been mistaken then, I suppose the labour had tired me out.” They heard the creak of a mattress as Nero launched himself into his little bed, and Hannah nodded. “It’s time…”

With a slight grunt, he lifted his wife’s thin frame off the bed, (he remembered carrying her across the threshold on their wedding night, he tried not to think how much lighter she was now), and brought her to sit in a chair beside his bed, cushioned enough to keep her upright and comfortable. He lit up the simple white candle, it was dim, but it would have to suffice. 

She smiled at him, and waved him away as Nero gave her a book to read him to sleep. Vergil was secretly relieved, as much as he felt like he should be there, to be the emotional bedrock for his son, he knew that he couldn’t. It was why he was able to be Nelo Angelo, to lock down his true feelings, to never let them out, but it had always been a trouble when it had come to being a father to Nero. His wife was understanding, she’d known from the start that Vergil had trouble expressing himself, but he was certain that his son thought he was cold and aloof. And even now, even when his son needed him the most...he couldn’t do it, and like a coward, he left the room, using the excuse that dishes needed to be done.

Arms soaked up to the elbows, he tried to focus on the soapy water, the clatter of dishes being left to dry, the crackling of the dying fire, anything to take his mind off the sounds that emanated from his son’s bedroom. The sobs, and sniffles, with the soft gentle murmuring that tried to assure his son, tore at Vergil’s heart. What he should have done was to go in there, to support his wife and child...but he couldn’t… for all his skill with the blade, for all his talent with the pen, he was powerless in moments like this, and it disgusted him.

Just when he couldn’t handle it anymore, and was tempted to go outside, to let the cool night air clear out his thoughts, Hannah’s sweet voice softly sang out:

_ Don't come to question _

_ All that you've known _

_ Remember: you are not alone _

_ I will be here, standing beside you _

_ There is no mountain _

_ Too tall to overcome _

_ We will be as one _

_ You will rise again _

_ This is your legacy _

_ Rise again _

_ This is your legacy _

For a few minutes, there was silence, no sobs, no singing. He cautiously crept into the bedroom, to see Hannah in the dim light leaning over the slumbering boy. Gently, she used a handkerchief to wipe the tracks of tears that remained shiny on his cheeks. She looked so tired, so weak, even from such a minor task, and Vergil felt a chill crawl up his spine. As her head slowly turned towards him, he knew what she knew...that it wouldn’t be much longer now.

“I’ve done,” she took a deep breath, as if the mere act of speaking to him sapped her strength, “I’ve done all I can for him. The rest...the rest will be up to you.” And with extreme effort, she raised up her arms, like a toddler being asked to be carried.

Scooping her up, he grabbed the flickering candle, to illuminate their way back to the bedroom, but as he was about to place her back in bed, she tugged his sleeve.

“Would you mind if we just sat together, for a little while?”

Vergil hesitated for a moment, and then nodded as he set the candle down on the dresser, and gingerly sat down in the bedroom rocking chair, holding her close to his chest. Even now, he could hear her breathing, each breath seemed forced, like she had to concentrate to take each breath. Her skin was cool and clammy, and he swore he could feel her heartbeat, thin and weak.

“I...love you,” she murmured into his chest, faintly almost unheard over the racing pound of his own heart. He opened his mouth to say how much he loved her, how bright she had made his life, how he had cherished each moment with her but, his tongue seemed to stick to the bottom of his mouth, his lips were paralyzed.

Even now, her nearly supernatural ability to read his mind was as strong as ever, as she pulled herself even closer. “I know...” and he could feel her lips curl up, before she took another deep breath.

“Will you sing to me?”

His mouth regained the ability of speech. “What would you like?”

“Remember that time on the borders of Mitis Forest, where we had that picnic?”   
Ah yes, it felt like a lifetime ago, the sun beaming down, her laughter like a bubbling brook, as she rested her head in his lap, wiping bread crumbs off his cheek. In ‘payment’ for her service, she had requested him to sing a song.

And now, even with his chest tight, and his eyes burning, he began to sing to her, one last time.

_ Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly _

_ Lavender's green _

_ When I am king, dilly, dilly _

_ You shall be queen _

_ Who told you so, dilly, dilly _

_ Who told you so? _

_ 'Twas mine own heart, dilly, dilly _

_ That told me so _

Even as he sang, her breathing slowed, her grip on his arm began to weaken, and her eyes, a beautiful shade of sky blue, closed. He tried to tell himself that she was falling asleep to the sound of his lullaby, just like her son, but his heart knew better. Still, he kept singing.

_ Roses are red, dilly, dilly _

_ Violets are blue _

_ Because you love me, dilly, dilly _

_ I will love you _

_ Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly _

_ And the lambs play _

_ We shall be safe, dilly, dilly _

_ Out of harm's way. _

Her breathing came to standstill, and her hand slipped off his arm, falling into her lap, her pulse ceased its thrumming. And there, on the dresser, the candle went out, as if an errant gust of wind had come through the window, coating the room in inky darkness. Even then, he still felt the outline of her smile against his breast, and so, with unseen tears falling down his cheeks, he continued to sing.

_ Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly _

_ Lavender's green _

_ When I am king, dilly, dilly _

_ You shall be queen _

* * *

_ The sun shouldn’t be shining,  _ Vergil thought as he and a dozen or so mourners, most friends of Hannah, gathered around the casket.  _ It should be raining, the clouds should be weeping the tears I cannot shed. _ The blood money he had earned to attempt to save her life, ironically would be used to furnish her tomb. It was a simple monument, yet her name would not forgotten, etched sharply into the granite:

_ Hannah Scriba _

_ Beloved Wife and Mother _

_ Forever in Our Hearts _

Under the freshly turned earth, she lay, in her favourite crimson dress, her wedding band still around her finger. There, she would rest forever, free of all pain and sickness, until one day, he would join her.

It took all his willpower to not break down. He had to remain strong, if only for the small quivering boy in front of him, who he supported by placing his hands on Nero’s shoulders. As painful as the last few days had been for Vergil, they must have been twice as worse for his son. Nero had alternated between sobbing uncontrollably, to blank emotionless stares. He hadn’t eaten much, even though friends and neighbours had provided a cornucopia of meals as gifts in this tragic time. And all through it all, Vergil could only be the stony, silent sentinel to support his son. He had not his wife’s ability to soothe and comfort, nor her ability to sense moods and thoughts. 

Eventually, the small crowd left, one by one, with murmured condolences, until both father and son stood alone in the quiet graveyard, standing before the stone marking Hannah’s final resting place, as well as Vergil’s unnamed mother. He knew little of her, aside from recollections of the fishermen who attempted to rescue them both out of the raging waves, but she had been a dark haired beauty, if the tales were true. 

“Why…” Nero asked, trying to keep his breathing steady, “Why did this happen to mom? I thought she was going to get better...she said she wanted to watch me grow up, but I’m still a kid?”   
“Nero,” Vergil started, dreading on how to answer this.

“She didn’t do anything wrong! Mom was so nice to everyone, she never got angry...she always helped people who needed things! Why did she have to get sick? Why couldn’t it be someone else? Why couldn’t it be someone who deserved it!? Why coul-” he stopped at the approach of feet, specifically three pairs of them. Vergil turned to see if there were a few latecomers to the service, but upon seeing the newcomers, he instantly pushed his son behind him.

For there, not more than three paces away from him, dressed in sober black, (although he was certain it wasn’t because of mourning) was Mundus, flanked on each side by his loyal bodyguards. A faux sympathetic smile crackled on his face.

“Who’s that?” Nero asked, but Vergil shushed him, his heart racing a million beats a minute. Why had the slimy bastard, who rarely left his headquarters, come out here?

“Ah Vergil,” he cocked his head in respect, “my heartfelt condolences at you and,” he paused as he examined Nero, who peered out from behind his father, “your son’s loss. To lose someone, after going through so much effort to save them, to have it all come to nothing…” Vergil tensed up, instantly calculating how he would dispatch Mundus. Sure, he was outnumbered, three to one, but with his skills, he still had the advantage. But with his son involved...no, he had to control himself. Mundus wouldn’t attack out here, out in the open.

“As a token of my sympathy...” he nodded in Shadow’s direction, and she silently stepped forward, and held out to him a bouquet of ebony black roses. Vergil quickly examined it, not seeing any obvious traps or dangers, before tentatively taking it with trembling hands. It seemed to be an ordinary, if sinister looking batch of flowers. “I’m willing to give you two weeks off, which includes wiping out the debt you would have worked off in that time. But,” his voice lowered dangerously, “Don’t think my act of generosity is an indication that you can default on your debts...remember,  _ Nelo,” _ Vergil stiffened, he’d never been called that outside of his cloaked outfit, and especially not in front of his son,  _ “ _ I still own you.”

And with a bow, he turned and left, followed by Nightmare and Shadow, leaving both father and son alone. He had two weeks’ reprieve, to figure out what to do. He still owed so much money, and now, Mundus knew about his son. Perhaps, if they moved, somewhere far away...Perhaps  Eternis Brillia ...no...that wouldn’t work, Mundus’s tentacles reached long and far. If he ran, the inevitable punishment would just grow. And it wouldn’t just be directed to himself… 

He gripped the stems of the bouquet, and was only vaguely aware of the thorns piercing his flesh. He barely felt the blood oozing from his fingers, dripping down on the earth. And he couldn’t hear his son worriedly asking him if he was okay, of who that man was…

_ Somehow  _ he thought to himself,  _ We must escape this Hell. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was intended to be a fun adventure fic, with a touch of heartwarming.
> 
> But then...DancerinDarkness suggested the 'ill wife' angle.
> 
> So...your tears are her fault.


	3. Mirror Image

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, life's been busy, but I'm still at work at this story!

“And so…” Sanctus droned on and on, about shit that Dante had no freaking interest in, “an increase on import duties on Vital Stars will increase the kingdom’s revenue…”

“Yeah,” Dante interrupted, trying his damndest to participate, trying to be the King worthy enough to be his Father’s heir. The three older men turned to look at him like he was a child interrupting their Very Important Conversation. “But Vital Stars already cost a pretty penny, wouldn’t that be hard on the most vulnerable?”

Lord Arkham barely concealed his annoyance with a growl, while Lord Agnus hid his disdain better with a aggravating chuckle, like Dante was a child who had asked a stupid question. Sanctus’s response was even worse, like a kindly old grandfather, talking to a puppy who had just accidentally shat on the carpet.

“Your Grace, of course there will be a rough period while this new duty is implemented, but with time…” he nodded to his two compatriots, “this will encourage our local industries to produce more, so we will be self reliant, and eventually, prices will go back down.”

 _But not to the levels they were before,_ Dante thought, _you didn’t need a degree in economics to see that._ That was the thing with these three guys, they were constantly talking about ‘self reliance’, and ‘closed economy’. He didn’t really get it. After all, what was the purpose of isolating oneself from the rest of the world? He’d heard that before the assasination, his father’s island was open to all comers and leavers, with dozens of diplomatic and trade relations around the hemisphere. Now, ever since then, it had been increasingly closed off, slowly sealing both her products and people from the rest of the world. Making the Kingdom’s residents just like him, but without the abundance of feasts and feather pillows.

Now the men were talking about implementation of the duties, as if he hadn’t even asked that question, and Dante found his eyes drifting out the window. There, the ocean breezes blew through, and the distant crash of surf could be heard like a thrumming heartbeat. And from his angle, to the far right, he could see the walls of the West Wing, a small black window that opened from what was once the nursery. And below it… he suddenly focussed on something below it. Several meters down, there was what looked to be...yes, it was a ledge. A tiny ledge, no thicker than a quarter metre, but it was there, and it...sloped downward, gently towards the base of the cliff, around a bend, which would lead… He thought for a moment, trying to remember the layout… the castle docks! It was so small, so nondescript, that no one had ever given it much thought. Perhaps… with a little bit of rope...no...if he missed, he’d land in the no doubt freezing water, but...the reward, freedom far outweighed the risk. Besides, if the worst were to happen, the council, no, the entire kingdom wouldn’t miss him. All he had to do was figure out the time and place, and also… swallow his fear and enter the West Wing.

“Psssst,” he felt a sharp jab in his ribs, and noticed a glare from Lady. He could see her mouth the words, “pay attention.” And so he tried, but his mind kept going back to where the white gulls soared, free and forever unchained.

******

He held a single candle alight as he silently padded on the ancient carpet, years of dust poofing up with every step. He wasn’t afraid...that was absurd. Why would he be afraid of ghosts that totally didn’t exist? The cries he heard were obviously the wind whistling through the windows… the footsteps was actually his pounding heartbeat, and that flash of red shawl? 

He whirled around, certain he had felt someone run past him, but he couldn’t see anything. He was just imagining things, his mind was playing tricks on him since it was so quiet and so dark, just trying to fill in the spaces. But still, he felt an unearthly chill as he approached the nursery, the room where his mother had died trying to protect him and his brother. Sometimes, he wondered what it would have been like if Vergil was the twin to survive, and not him. Sometimes he imagined what Vergil would have been like. Maybe he would like to tell jokes, or maybe play pranks? All he knew for certain was that his elder brother would have made a much better king than him.

He paused at the threshold. (Not out of fear, that was ridiculous). Did he have everything? He had his hooded hunting cloak, not too ostentatious, after all, he didn’t want to attract too much attention. His hair would be distracting enough. Underneath the cloak, he had Rebellion, in case things got dicey, or if he really needed to prove who he was. After all, while most people had never set eyes upon him to recognize that he was the King, the seal of the Kingdom, affixed to every official document, boldly showed the weapon. And, he had a pouch of gold coins, although he was terrified about using them. He didn’t know the slightest thing about haggling, but...he’d manage. 

Taking a deep breath, he entered the nursery, trying his best not to look at the pair of overturned cradles. He tried to pretend he couldn’t hear a woman’s soft voice singing a lullaby. He needed to get through that window, and fast. Tonight, Enrico was busy celebrating his son’s acceptance to becoming a squire, so he wasn’t on duty, and Lady Mary was busy organizing guard deployments for the next month. He’d never have a better chance than now.

He slowly brought out the rope, feeling it through his fingers, hoping that it would be strong enough.

_Remember to tie the knot tight_

He whirled around again… He swore he had heard a disembodied voice, a woman’s whispering in his ear. Okay, his mind was playing tricks on him...but at least it was giving good advice. He knotted the one remaining bar on the window, once, then twice, then three times, before giving it a sharp tug. The rope didn’t budge, bringing him great relief. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be easy to remove once he came down, so he’d have to leave it behind, a clue if anyone tried to follow his trail. But, ah well… he threw the rope down, to where it was long enough to reach the ledge. So close now….

One more deep breath, he swung his leg over the windowsill, and for a moment he looked back at the room that had been intended for him and his brother’s space as they grew up. There was nothing there for him...but wait...was that a figure of a woman in the doorway? It was hard to make out...but...no, it was just his mind playing tricks on him again, and he couldn't afford to get scared now, not half dangling over the edge.

Cautiously, he rappelled down, a bit more quickly than he had intended ignoring the burn as the rope slipped through his palm. Never had he been so relieved as his toes hit solid rock. He had been correct, the ledge was narrow, but still wide enough for him to hug the wall and shimmy down towards the docks. Still, as he looked forlornly at the rope, it seemed a shame to leave it hanging. He gave it a halfhearted tug…..and to his astonishment and horror, it gave way, and the entire rope coiled onto his stunned head. That made no sense! He had knotted that harder than the time he had tied lord Agnus’s shoelaces together as a child. Well, at least he had his rope, and the clue to his escape with him, as he carefully made his way down. But even as he did so, above the sound of the pounding surf, he swore he heard that woman’s voice again.

_Find him, Dante…._

_Find Vergil…_

******

It was strange, being outside the solid, quiet, stable walls of his castle. Never had he seen so many different shades of colours that the people wore, the awnings, the walls of buildings. And the noise! Vendors hawking their wares, customers haggling for fresh veggies, or reams of cloth. Dante had never seen so many people packed in such a small area, and while most people gave his hooded form some space, it was inevitable that occasionally someone would bump into him. For someone who barely had physical contact with others, it threatened to overwhelm him.

But what he could never shake off was the ever present smell. There was of course, fresh fish being displayed, but to be perfectly honest, it was the stink of shit. It clung to everything and everyone, worse than the Royal Stables. First thing he’d do when he’d come back, he vowed, was decree that a proper sewer system be built. All he could do for now was to pull up his cloak over his nose, a makeshift mask.

But stench aside, Dante was having the time of his life, this taste of complete freedom. No one paid him any deference, no one averted their eyes or bowed profusely when he made eye contact with them. Everyone was content to just ignore him, not expect him to make some grand proclamation.

Still, he kept an ear out for whispers and gossip. Already, it was shortly after noon on the first day of his escape, and no doubt the whole castle was in uproar at his sudden disappearance, but no news had apparently made past the gates. Maybe they still thought he was inside, in some elaborate game of hide and seek. Maybe they thought he was a victim of kidnapping, and kept the news under wraps in fear? All he knew, was that when he arrived back home in time for the Ball (as much as he was loath to return, his absence at the event of the year would send diplomatic shockwaves, and even _he_ was too responsible to let that happen), Lady would give him a tongue lashing he would not soon forget.

The mental image of the woman, no higher than his chest, looking up at him and snarling, brought so much of a grin on his face, that he momentarily forgot his surroundings, and accidentally bumped into someone.

“Sorry, sir!” A kid, no older than Enrico’s youngest, with mousy brown hair, a missing front tooth and grubby clothes gave a bob of his head, and quickly scurried around him, before Dante had a chance to let the kid know that it was okay. He internally scolded himself for his inattention, before suddenly realizing something felt off. Mentally, he checked out what he had. His cloak: Yup! His sword: Still got it! His coin purse?

His hands scrabbled at his waist, and with a panic fluttering, the fingers came upon nothing.

Quickly, he whirled around, his eyes retracing his steps. Had he dropped it?

Not more than a few paces was the little kid, hunched over something, his eyes wide as dinner plates. It quickly became apparent what had caused him such shock. There in his grubby little hands, was Dante’s coin purse, with the glint of gold peeking out. For a brief moment, Dante wondered that maybe it was more than the kid had seen in his entire life. Before making his escape, he had guessed about how much money he’d need, but evidently he’d probably overestimated. 

“Hey kid!” he removed the cloak from his face, so he’d be heard better, “hand that over, and you can keep a coin for yourself.” He was pretty impressed at how the little bugger had managed to pickpocket, and Dante was a generous soul, honey and flies and all that.

The kid’s eyes shot up, and somehow even got wider. Dante didn’t want to scare the little guy, so he just gave a gentle smirk, and beckoned the kid over.

The kid didn’t seem to be relieved at all, he just stood there as still as a statue, before uttering the weirdest sentence. 

“Shit, it’s Nero’s dad!” And then the kid bolted, slipping through the crowd. 

_Well crap,_ Dante grumbled as he took after the little thief, _if I don’t get my money back, this is gonna be a real short taste of freedom._

The kid darted this way and that, weaving around the crowds. Had he not done so, Dante would have surely caught up with him, his long legs covering much more ground than the kid’s. And now the kid’s energy was beginning to lag as he darted into an alleyway, just a little bit more, and Dante could reach him…

“Nero, catch!” and with a precise flick of his wrist, the leather bag arced into the air, across the alley...and into the lap of a boy sitting on a crate, who had apparently been bouncing a rubber ball against a wall to pass the time. 

“TellyourdadImsorry!” the boy ran off, leaving Dante panting as the child looked at him with alarm. He was dressed slightly more nicely than the original thief, although there were patches covering well worn areas of his clothes...and his hair! A brilliant white that contrasted sharply with the dingy surroundings. Dante wracked his brain, the kid seemed familiar, and you didn’t come across that type of hair colour everyday.

“Dad?” the boy, who couldn't be older than ten years old, asked with a touch of fear.

“Uhhh,” Dante didn’t know what to say. Despite the uncanny resemblance to the kid, Dante could confidently say he hadn’t fathered any children. “I think you got the wrong guy, kid, but your friend there took something from me...mind handing it back?”

He took a couple cautious steps toward him, and as quick as a flash, the kid leapt off the crate, and bolted down the alleyway, leaving his rubber ball bouncing pathetically behind.

“Son of a ….” Dante growled, pulling the mask over his face again, as the stench here was even worse. This whole ‘bid for freedom’ thing was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth. And with a grunt, he took off after the little brat, his patience wearing quite thin.

The alleyways twisted this way and that, with various obstacles like barrels, boxes, and the occasional stray cat that hissed as he passed. Dante had to hand it to the kid, he was a fast little guy, but even then, Dante was gaining on him. Years spent trying to outrun his guards in the castle corridors were paying off. And the kid’s energy seemed to be lagging...he was tantalizingly close...and… THERE! He had the kid by the scruff of his collar.

 **“DAD!!! DAD!!”** the boy screamed as he flailed this way and that, and Dante was sure he was trying to slip out of his shirt, or at the very least, scratch at him. 

“Jeesh kid, I’m not gonna hurt you…” Dante tried reasoning with this rabid raccoon in the shape of a child, “Just give me back my money, and we’ll be even...you didn’t steal it from me, so I won’t even report you to the gu-”

He didn’t get out the next word, because an almost bone-crushing force hit him from his left side, sending him flying into a brick wall.

“Dad!” he vaguely was aware of the kid crying out in relief as he swiftly tried to recover.

“Run home, Nero…” a new voice, an adult voice echoed, and as his vision cleared he saw, between him and the kid, another man, his height and build. Like him, he also was wearing a hood and cloak, but his sharp blue eyes shone with an ice cold inferno. Great...so here was Papa bear.

The little brat hesitated for the briefest of seconds, before making a run for it.

“Kid! Wait! Oh...for frick’s sake.” He said as the boy disappeared out of sight down an alleyway. Dante focused on the man blocking his path. “Look,” he insisted, “I don’t have a problem with your kid, one of his friend’s gave him something that-” the man made no indication of even listening to him, his glare intensifying, as he cracked his knuckles.

A small voice, the logical voice told him to just play the ‘I am your Lord and King’ card, the easiest way to get his stuff back...but when did Dante ever listen to the logical part of his brain?

“Oh sod it all…” and he bull rushed his opponent. He felt a grunt of surprise, and could feel the man give way, being pushed aside as he ran past to catch up with the kid. It wouldn’t take long, the kid was too tired to run fast, and would probably be taking a small break, now that he wa-.

Dante felt a hard yank against his sleeve, and then a sharp grab around his midsection. The man had recovered quicker than he had expected, and had used Dante’s momentum against him, swinging him towards the wall....again. Dante just barely managed to twist his body so he didn’t go face first into the bricks. He tried to recover again...but this time he was too slow, and now before his vision cleared, he felt himself being slammed back into the wall, and more worrisome, a crushing grip around his throat. Immediately the logical part of his brain was doing a ‘I told you so’ in a sing-song voice, much to his annoyance.

He struggled, tried to kick, but this asshole… he knew exactly how to choke a guy out...so all Dante could do was scrabble at the man’s wrists, to get him to let go… the outside of his vision was beginning to go blurry, then black, until all he could see was the man’s furious gaze. All he could hear was the heavy thudding of his heartbeat...and the jingle of metal.

Then, without warning, he heard a gasp that wasn’t his, and the pressure was taken of his throat, albeit only slightly. The jerk wasn’t glaring at him anymore, his gaze was transfixed on Dante’s throat. Okay...weird. But whatever this guy’s deal was, Dante wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. And with a surge of adrenaline, he pushed forward, left hand hand on his sternum, applying as much pressure as he could, the right reaching behind and gripping the hood. Even if he wouldn’t get out of this fight alive, he was going to see the face of the man who ended it. It was quite an embarrassment, really. _Here Lies King Dante, Last of His House...Killed by an Angry Father in a Stinking Alleyway._ It just didn’t have a great sound to it. So as they both toppled over, he gave a sharp yank, and the hood fell away…

For a brief moment, Dante was confused. It was as if he was fighting a reflection, a mirror image of himself, albeit this one was thinner, with more lines of care on his face (and dare he say it: a little less handsome) But aside from that and the swept back hair, the man looked identical to him. 

So shocked at this revelation, he didn’t actually try doing anything as he landed on top of the man. He just stared as a missing piece, lost for twenty seven years finally fell into place. He tried to say something, anything, but his jaw just didn’t seem to work…He was vaguely aware of the rapid approach of feet.

“GET AWAY FROM MY DAD!” An angry voice shouted, and now his jaw definitely didn’t work as a boy’s sized boot drop kicked him in the face, launching him back into the wall for the third time. Strange, he didn’t feel pain as the force ripped away his cloak and mask. All he could do was pull himself up to a sitting position, and watch both father and son just stare at him. The son looked immensely confused as he helped his equally perplexed father up… the father who had an amulet almost identical to Dante’s…

He coughed out a wad of bloody phlegm, and winced slightly, but the pain was the last thing on his mind right now.

“Heh, long time, no see…. _Vergil.”_

* * *

_Two months,_ Vergil thought, as he stirred the pot, _the worst two months of my life have ended so strangely._ In the next room, he could hear his son excitedly chattering away, showing off his collection of well loved toys to their guest. No, not a guest …

_His brother._

The past two months had been hell for the father and son, without Hannah around. In order to pay off his debt to Mundus as soon as possible, he had been taking twice the amount of jobs he had done, to the point he felt his hands were now permanently stained with blood, figuratively speaking. And of course, the more time he played being Mundus’s pet, the less time he had for his son. So distant has the two become, that some days he and Nero spoke no more than a dozen words to each other. He was failing _her,_ failing at being the father he had promised her he would be. All he could do was hope that the damage was repairable by the time his debt was paid.

So his heart fractured when he had received word from his son’s teacher that Nero had not shown up for school for the last week. 

Not even bothering to change out of his intimidating clothes, he went out to search from him. And thank his stars he did. For not only had he found his son in the nick of time, he’d found, to his amazement, a piece of his family.

‘Dante’, he had called himself... _his twin brother._ Even now, he half expected to wake up in a harsh sweat, to an empty bed, and an empty heart.

But no… this was real. Dante WAS real. And despite their initial rocky start to their relationship, Dante was acting as if their fight had never happened. Well, aside from the ugly welt on his jawline that caused him to wince. Even then, he hadn’t held against Nero, instead cheerfully ruffling the boy’s head and complimenting him on his ‘kick’. If Vergil was in shock over his discovery of his family, Dante was absolutely thrilled. 

Vergil hesitated as he poured the thin broth into three bowls, wondering if Dante would be insulted by such meagre offerings. For as much as Dante had tried to disguise it, it was obvious from his garb that he was higher class, perhaps even nobility. There was also that coin purse that Nero had sheepishly handed back to him. The sound of high quality silver and gold was unmistakable to Vergil’s well trained ears There were so many questions that needed answers, but Vergil was patient.

He needn’t have worried about how his newfound brother would react. Either Dante was too ecstatic to finally meet them, or (considering that he was eating faster than Nero wolfed down his soup, albeit less messily, this was more likely) he actually liked this humble fare.

“So, this is where you live, eh?” he looked around, with wonder in his eyes. “Cozy!” 

Vergil just stared. There was no sarcasm, no malice in his voice, just glee. It seemed like the man was on some sort of vacation, unable to comprehend that this little house was in the middle of the slums.

“Dad said he was going to get us a bigger place in the country, when he made enough money, with a garden and big windows to let in the sunshine for mom!” piped up Nero, between bites. His son had evidently forgiven his new uncle just as quickly, and had even mumbled an unprompted “I’m sorry I kicked you in the face” after being complimented on his strength.

“Ah your mom?” his eyes lit up like a puppy who had heard the word ‘treat’, probably at the thought of meeting more relatives, “When’s she coming home?”

A somber heavy blanket seemed to have been thrown over the entire room. Vergil had to contain the swirling emotions inside himself. The man didn’t know, so how could it be held against him?

“She...passed away due to illness… two months ago”, was all Vergil could say, looking down at his bowl. Even Nero fell silent. 

“Well...shit…” Dante muttered, seemingly no longer hungry as he pushed his stew away, “If I had found out sooner...If I had known you were alive...maybe…”

“I’m not sure you could have done much,” Vergil attempted to assuage the guilt that Dante didn’t deserve. It should be all placed upon him, and he alone, “She was ill for quite a long time, despite all my efforts,” _Not enough, never enough_ , he left unspoken. “But you just implied that you thought I was dead…?” Best to change the subject, before he fell into that deep dark abyss.

“Well, when the assassins hit our family, they got Father, Mother...and we had assumed you too. Everyone in the castle was looking for you, hoping that you’d been hidden away, or maybe kidnapped...at least you would be still alive.” Dante sighed, and his brows furrowed, “But years passed, and there wasn’t any ransom note or anything, no person claiming they had a rightful ruler to the throne...so eventually,” his shoulders slumped, “everyone just gave up. Even I did, after a while.”

“Wait…” Vergil was trying to catch up to what he had heard, “castle? ‘Rightful Ruler?’”

Dante chuckled as he soaked the rest of the broth with the stale bread, before tossing it in his mouth. “Seems like you never got told, or nobody around you knew. You’re Prince Vergil, son of the Late King Sparda and Queen Eva…” another pause, and his eyes seemed to glisten, “and by all accounts...being the eldest twin, the Rightful King of Fortuna.”

Had a raging bull just suddenly burst into their little hovel, Vergil wouldn’t have been able to react, not with the information he had just received. All his life, he had just assumed that he was unwanted, unloved...unimportant, and now all this time… it was quite the opposite. He’d always assumed that his name was just a coincidence, shared by the missing prince. Had things been different...he wouldn’t have had to ever worry about hungry nights, or making sure he had a roof over his head. He’d have his every need and want taken care of…

But...as a prince, he’d never have met someone as ‘humble’ as Hannah, let alone marry her (Not that he ever considered his wife lesser for being a commoner like himself). And he’d have never fathered Nero. Just the idea of his son not existing caused him great pain. No, even with all the hardship he had gone through, the deprivations, the losses, the regrets (and there were many), he would have not changed a bit.  
“Wait…” Nero’s voice shocked him out of his stupor. The boy’s spoon was dropped and bounced off the table, and clattered on the floor, and for once, Vergil didn’t chide him to pick it back up, “You’re KING Dante!?” The boy was instantly suspicious, which surprised Vergil. It usually was Vergil’s role to be instantly cynical, Nero was supposed to be a carefree optimistic child. The past few months had taken a toll on the poor boy.

“The one and only!”

“I don’t believe you,” Nero scowled, but Dante didn’t seem to mind, he just leaned forward and ruffled his son’s hair, setting off another scowl.

“Let me try to convince you. Two months or so ago, you came to the castle when I was doing my monthly receptions. I saw you in the courtyard…” he trailed off, his eyes seeming so distant, “...if I had just asked for a little more time for requests, maybe things would have been different…”

Nero’s reaction was shock and awe. “You really are the King…” his voice came out his a raspy whisper.

“Not supposed to be, being the ‘spare to the heir’ and all that, but I’ve done my best, not that it counts for much,” he responded with a touch of bitterness.

“But why are you here?” Vergil interjected, concerned, “Where are your guards? Your entourage?” He might have, until this very moment, been a grubby commoner, but he knew enough to know that nobility, let alone royalty, would have a gaggle of attendees to protect and see to their every need. Even Mundus had his two faithful bodyguards.

Dante seemed a bit sheepish and bit on his lower lip. “I, uh… well, the thing was…” he paused “I kinda snuck out. Yeah, took a little secret way out of the West Wing, and slipped out last night. I needed to get some freedom, some fresh,” he paused and wrinkled his nose, “air. And I wanted to see the world outside of the oppressive castle walls.” 

Vergil inwardly scoffed. What was Dante thinking, that a pampered princeling’s life was somehow worse than an average person’s, let alone someone like Vergil’s? 

“I was never let out, never allowed to just do the things I wanted, always had to dress a certain way, talk a certain way, meet the right people, nod and sign the right papers. It was suffocating. ButI just wanted to see, to experience how people lived, how everyone saw the world.” He sighed with a tinge of regret, “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been so happy to finally find out that I’m not alone, that I got my twin back, that I got a nephew.” He leaned back, “I was hoping to have more than twenty four hours of freedom before I had to go back. But, I gotta get you two back. The return of the long lost Prince would be the best thing to happen to Fortuna in a generation! I just…WAIT!” He sat back up, his eyes alight with an idea. “I AM A GENIUS!”

He stood up and began pacing up and down the small room, a growing grin on his face “It’s so simple, foolproof, really. I can still have a taste of freedom and…” he placed his hand through his hair, and with a quick swish, his hair was swept back, making him look like a mirror image of Vergil. A somewhat heftier one, with smoother skin (and dare he say it: a little less handsome), but to anyone else, he looked identical to Vergil. Dante beamed at him.

“You can enjoy all the ‘perks’ being king has”.

Vergil stared at him for a moment, the gears in his head trying to catch up, working on overdrive. Eventually, he realized what Dante was going on about.

“You want… us to switch places?”

His disbelief must have been louder than he intended, as his brother held his hands up defensively. “I mean… just temporarily! Maybe a couple weeks, a month at the most, you live as me, I live as you, and when I feel all refreshed, I’ll come back, make the announcement to the kingdom that the Royal family has two new members, champagne will flow yada yada.”  
“But…” Vergil retorted, “I know nothing of being a King-”

“It’s easy! All you have to do is smile, nod, sign some documents...it’s really boring when you think about it…”

“I’m not leaving without Nero…and they’ll never believe that I’m you with him at my side.” he protested. 

Dante snapped his fingers, “I gotcha covered. Everyone has been pressuring me to ‘settle down and pop out a couple kids, you know, for the succession. You just tell him the truth, that Nero is your kid, and they’ll be so relieved that I did my ‘kingly duty’,” he looked momentarily uncomfortable, “they’ll accept you and Nero as the Real Deal. Look,” he ruffled the boy’s hair, “the kid has the signature Sparda hair colour, no one will catch on until I get back. And it’ll make it easier for you to learn the ropes, everyone will be busy explaining stuff to Nero.”

“But certainly someone knows you well enough to tell the difference…”

Dante stopped his pacing and stared out of the window, his smile suddenly gone. “You won’t have to worry about that...I’m not really close with anyone…” 

Vergil wanted to ask what he was talking about, but he was distracted by a soft tugging on his sleeve. Nero looked up at him, his blue eyes pleading. “Can we dad? Can we please go to the castle? We’ll have really soft beds! And you won’t have to worry about food! I’ll be really good, I’ll do all my schoolwork! I won’t tell anybody that you’re not really the King. Pleeeeaaase?”

Vergil spent a moment thinking. A day ago, he’d been resigned to the fact that he’d always struggle to provide for his family, and that even if he managed to work off his debt, Mundus would always be there, hovering dangerously over his life. This was his chance for him and his son to escape, not for merely a week, nor a month, but for the rest of their lives. Nero would want for nothing, have his every need taken care of, wouldn’t worry if his father would come home that night. All he had to do was one more short job.... It was like being a mercenary again, taking an unusual, but very well paying job. How hard could it possibly be, being a King?

He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder, before turning back to his newfound brother.

“Very well, but only for a limited time.” 

Between Nero and Dante, he couldn’t tell whose smile was more brilliant.  
  
  


******

He was going to have second thoughts as the trio approached the castle gate. First of all, Vergil hated having his hair down, in his eyes, obscuring his vision. How Dante managed to make it work was confounding.

Secondly, what if this was all a set up? What if Dante wasn’t king, he was just some con artist that shared his bloodline, trying to get a different identity, while leaving him high and dry?  
But...deep inside, he truly trusted Dante. And besides, if his newfound brother was trying to pull a fast one, Mundus would come for Dante, not him.

Still, his old instincts, warning him to be on his guard wouldn’t let up.

Beside him, his brother, hooded as he was, rattled off names of people that would be important to him, along with brief descriptions, few flattering. 

“Lord Sanctus is an ancient old guy, one foot in the grave. Don’t mention Lord Agnus’s stutter to him, but of a sore spot for him. And Lord Arkham gives everyone the creeps, but he and his family have been serving us for generations. His wife was our Royal Nursemaid, and his girl now shares the position of Captain of the Guard with Enrico Elesion. She’s a bit…” he hesitated, “abrasive, but she and Rico are loyal. Should things go south, you can let them on our little switchers. Although,” Dante winced, “Lady’s gonna tan my hide if she finds out, so only tell them as a last resort.”

It wasn’t a game to Vergil, and inwardly he was irked at how lightly his brother was taking it, especially when Vergil would have the ‘easy’ job, and Dante would have to deal with Mundus.

As if his brother read his mind, placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, I can take care of that... _little problem_ of yours.” Shortly before, while Nero had excitedly packed, and out of earshot, the two men had discussed Vergil’s arrangement with the crime lord. To his relief, his brother hadn’t been judgemental of what he had done, especially when he found out the reason for it.

“Dante, you can’t solve it with gold, he needs my-or in this case your sword arm” Vergil hissed, trying to not draw his son’s attention to their conversation. The less Nero knew, the better. It really didn’t matter, as the boy was practically dragging him towards the castle.

“Well, I’ve got the skills, considering I almost kicked your as-”

“Nonsense, I had you in my clutches.”

“Dad!” Nero broke up their bickering, “We’re here!”

And so they were, mere metres from the castle gates, the guards standing like silent statues.

“Welp....” Dante started backing up, “It’s showtime! Remember, I’ll be back in a month or so... King’s honour! I hope you two have as much as I will!”

A few moments of silence passed, where Vergil doubted himself. Did he really have what it took to pretend to be the King? He could go back to his old, safe, nondescript life.... But for Nero? He deserved to have the best life Vergil could give him...he had promised Hannah that. And so, with a deep breath, he took a step forward, and removed his hood.

The effect was instantaneous. Some guards straightened up, some instantly knelt, and one of them called out towards the castle itself.  
  


**_“The King has returned!! Alert Lady Mary!”_ **

A wave of relief washed over him. Dante hadn’t been lying, he really WAS part of royalty, as was Nero. Speaking of which, his son, who had just been so eager to get here, suddenly froze and hid behind his father. Perhaps it was the same feeling Vergil had felt, the fear of the unknown…

Or maybe it was the loud clank of armour and the angry bellowing getting louder. It was hard to make out, but it definitely was a woman’s voice, authoritative and strong. And Vergil had a sinking suspicion he knew why, and who it was directed at.

“YOU!” The guards parted quickly, as if they were scared, and a woman stepped forward, her armour glittering in the torchlight of the night, “Do you know what trouble you’ve caused for us!? The entire castle has been in an uproar with your little escape stunt! The council has been running around in a panic, claiming that this was an inside plot, they were ready to string up some of my best guards!”  
Vergil couldn’t help but be amused. This woman, a good head shorter than him, practically a waif, was barking at him as if she were Cerberus itself. This must be Lady, Dante’s description was quite on the nose with her angry tirade. “Enrico was supposed to celebrate his son’s ascension today, but you made the poor man pull his hair out.” She gripped her sword tightly, as if she was about to unsheathe her weapon. “I ought to take you out to the courtyard and beat you sens-”

She stopped mid second, and Vergil felt a tightening grip on his arm, and a frightened gasp. Placing his hand on Nero’s back, to support him, he gently pushed him so that she could get a good look. And her reaction, the fire of rage in her eyes was snuffed out, only to be replaced by a flame of shock. Some of the gasps behind her indicated she wasn’t the only one.

“Lady Mary,” he spoke, as formally as he could. The way her eyes darted back up back to him, which was a relief, he’d gotten her name correct. He took another deep breath, “I present to you...Nero, my son.”

She stared at him, then at the boy, then back at him, no doubt trying to put the pieces together. There could be no mistaking Nero’s parentage, a lot of people had remarked how the boy looked like the spitting image of his father. And since Dante was his identical twin, Nero looked much like his uncle as well, selling the lie.

“That’s…” she licked her lips nervously, as if she was trying to figure out how to be polite about it, “that’s why you left… to bring him here?”

Vergil nodded, hoping he was being convincing enough. He didn’t reveal more, the less he had to lie, the longer he could keep the charade going.

The woman surveyed the area, as if she was looking for someone. At first Vergil panicked, thinking she knew he wasn’t Dante, and was now looking for his brother. But her brows furrowed.

“Where’s his mother?”

Ahhh, that’s who she was looking for, and the memory of Hannah washed over him. He pictured her as part of the royal family, dressed in a fine red velvet gown, sitting down in the regal library, eagerly spending her ample free time writing her life’s work, History of Fortuna. But this would never be, just a regretful what if…

“She...passed away.”

Lady jerked away, as if an electric current hit her. She paused, processing what she had heard, searching both their faces for confirmation, and since it was true, the sombre grief was far too real, far too painful. Her look momentarily softened.

“Ah...I see…” She jerked again, as if she was aware in the crack in her stony facade, and patched over it, as she scanned the surrounding guards. “Well! What are you staring at?! Inform the palace! Get them inside right away!”

The guards scurried as they escorted both father and son inside the gates, and Vergil had only a moment to glance behind him, before the heavy wooden doors closed ominously, he swore he saw a cloaked figure in the darkness, giving him a good luck wave.

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I had brought up this idea, I expected people to say, 'Oh, like the Mickey Mouse Film!'
> 
> Imagine how old I felt when nearly everyone said 'Oh, like the BARBIE Film!'


End file.
